Dear Georg
by out.of.sea.into.woods
Summary: Maximilian Detweiller, imprisoned in Dachau, shares a secret correspondence with Georg Von Trapp. M/M.
1. The Letter

**I don't own Sound of Music.**

**So, this came from the fact that my high school is doing SOM this year and one of my best friends is the Captain and I'm Max. And we would kid about the _subtext_ of Max and Georg's relationship (Max pulls Georg's attention away from Elsa sometimes, Georg allows Max to freeload, etc.) And my friend decided to write a little song about that relationship. Not to be bested, I decided to write a little reply. Just made year/date edits.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

_… Switzerland is tolerable, though I hope we can leave soon. The authorities are processing are immigration forms as quickly as possible. America is the safest place for us, Maria keeps telling me. But what will I be there? Not a Captain, not a Baron. But with the baby on its way and all the children- we have to do what's best for us all._

_ I'm glad that you're still alive, that's something at least. I'll wire you some more money, but I must be careful. No doubt, the Nazis have people watching you. And me. Please, be careful. Do you know when you're getting out? If there's anything I can do, please, tell me, Max._

_Truly,_

_ Georg_

Max Detweiller held the letter delicately. The clear, impassioned handwriting made his heart soar. He was lying on his thin cot, a stiff blanket insufficiently keeping the warmth close to his ever-growing thinner body, but it didn't matter. The Dachau winter couldn't squelch the soft candle of light in his heart. Giving a glance to the door (one could never know when a Nazi officer was watching), Max pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen from under his pillow and began writing in the cold, dim light.

_Dear Georg,_

_ As always, your money is the most appreciated aspect of this relationship. It is the only thing that keeps me going; and these letters. Most of your wires go straight to the officers as a bribe. Most, at least._

_ I'm glad the Swiss are as welcoming as we believed them to be. When you can, contact Herr Fitzsimmons. He's Minister of Taxation and has many friends in high places; he can help you (plus, he has an __**excellent**__ wine cellar, though nothing compared to yours, of course). I wish Maria well, I truly do. It's been far too long since the last Von Trapp birth and I can hardly picture you without a small child in your arms. I remember when you and A__gathe__ first brought back Liesel. That absurdly proud smile you wore while you paraded her about like the brightest medal you'd ever won. It seems so long ago, like it was someone else's life. I feel so spent, Georg. So old. Hard to believe I turn forty this year. I feel like only yesterday, we were young, a valient young naval officer and a conniving politician. Ready to take Austria by storm._

_ Dachau isn't nearly as bad as I believed. Sure, it's more or less a living hell, but they give me my cigarette and brandy rations all the same, so I can't complain. I'm starting to charm my way out of this situation, I believe. It helps that I actually didn't __**know**__ anything beforehand._

Max paused for a moment, his hand beginning to ache. Of course, it wasn't totally true. The officers here were cruel, very cruel. The interrogations often included severe beatings that left Max dazed and breathless for days. But what use would it be getting Georg upset over something he couldn't control? Max began to cough violently into his arm, his body retching to be free of this sickness. It had been a few days since the cough came. But it had gotten so much worse. Surprisingly, Max didn't care anymore.

_ Georg, you existed outside your titles long before the war, how should this be any different? When I first met you, I had no idea you were a Baron: I only knew you were rich and that was good enough for me. No, you were only Georg and the Americans should be proud to get just that._

_ I'm not sure when I'll be getting out. Though they seem to be letting up on me, they make no indication that they are going to free me. Elsa wrote to me the other day, she says she is doing all she can to secure my freedom. The little darling. Though I honestly believe her, I'm beginning to doubt if I shall ever be free again._

_ Oh, Georg, I miss you. I miss you desperately. How could I ever ask you to compromise? There is __**no**__ compromise with these mad men, only right and wrong. Heaven knows which is which anymore. Oh, but you knew. You always knew what was right. I'm so sorry I ever doubted you._

_ Remember that first night? In Vienna? August, 1917. It was your shipping out party. Everyone was there and it was beautiful. Elsa and Agathe, caught up in that flapper trend in feathers and sequins. The band played something quick and hot, the singer's voice was smoky in the air. I drank too much champagne, but you didn't care. We danced and I thought I was flying. I couldn't breathe, but you helped me stand. The girls went to freshen up and we waited for them on the roof._

_ In those moments of solitude, you held my hand and told me to wait for you. Do you remember, Georg? Your eyes were so green, it was lovely. I cried that night on the roof, under the black sky, and you kissed me, trying to make it better. Later, after we walked the girls home, you took me to your apartment and we made love for the first time. I cried then too. Not because you were cruel, but because I knew, as I've always known, that I would never have you. Truly have you._

_ Oh Georg, sometimes I think about everything that has happened. Did we really make those choices, or was it someone else? Agathe was lovely, and I know what she meant to you, but I hated her. I hated her because she loved you and you loved her back. When she died, I'm sorry, Georg, but I was happy. And when Elsa made her plans, well- It seemed like the perfect solution. She knew there was someone else in your life, though she never knew it was me (she often complained about how often Georg left to see the "other woman"- ha! I quite like that name, "the other woman"). I had hoped we could've reached some understanding, some way to go on privately._

_ But then Maria came. I know you love her, and she's really quite amazing- But Georg. I hate you for her. You married her without even telling me- I wasn't even allowed at the wedding! And then you left on your two month honeymoon, leaving me with the kids and an empty bed._

Mas stopped, tears making his eyes glassy and his hand shake. Oh yes, sometimes he hated Georg. Like when Georg hated him. Max didn't mean to hold a grudge against Maria- she saved George _and_ the children, he _owed _her. But she had taken the greatest treasure of his life from him, as Elsa and Agathe had done before her, so he had to hate her.

_Georg, forgive my resentment. I have had a year of pain and solitude, with only your letters as comforts. I don't mean what I say Georg, you know me. I'm a politician with no political convictions._

_ Have the children sing the Edelweiss song, for me- the on you sang when we stayed in that cabin on the mountain in '19. That was a lovely summer; I dream of it often. Give Maria my love. And thank Brigetta for the book and the letter- Steinbeck will be a much appreciated break form this hellhole (Georg, you're letting the girl read Fitzgerald? How progressive of you)._

_ Keep my in your prayers. You always occupy mine._

_Forever Yours,_

_ Max_


	2. The Mountain

**I don't own SOM.**

**Again, this is just some brain vomit I have, nothing serious.**

**Don't worry about it.**

_Loving, leaving, it's too late for this now_

_Such esteem for each has gone_

_Has time driven our season away?_

_In a world of the speech that is new_

_I'll be back again to stay_

_Again to stay_

- "_Winter Song_" by the Head and the Heart

Georg Von Trapp looked over the letter stiffly, the slanted, quick handwriting so familiar to him. He was sitting in the family's rented apartment. Maria and the kids were out singing, earning what little money they could. The great Von Trapp fortune was very precious to Georg, and he did his best to conserve it. That meant very little spending money. Maria had asked him to come with her, but he simply couldn't reveal himself like that. Singing... Singing was something he kept close to his heart.

Georg touched the last paragraph. _The summer of '19_. Oh yes, he remembered that well. Agathe was away in Paris; they were only dating at that time. Oh, what a time it was.

_June, 1919_

"Georg," Max panted tiredly. "I am fully in favor of _stopping_. _Now_."

"Come on!" Georg looked over his shoulder with a smile. Max was kneeling over, his hands on his knees. His orange sweater vest was stained with sweat, his bow tie slightly off kilter. "I told you to dress for a hike." Georg shifted their bags from his left shoulder to his right. He had done his best to carry the majority of their supplies, but it seemed even the light load was too much physical exertion for Max.

"Seeing as I've never experienced any form of physical activity in my life, I'm not sure how you could trust me with that job." Georg stepped towards him, offering him his hand. Max looked at it for a moment, smiled, and took it heartily.

"How will you survive hiking the others?"

"Why in the _world_ would I hike any other mountain ever?" Max asked, incredulous.

"For _fun_." Georg supplied. Max could only chortle at that.

"Can I at least have a smoke?" Max asked. Not waiting for an answer, he took out his pack and put a cigarette between his lips.

As he searches for his lighter, Georg reached over and plucks the cigarette from Max's lips, putting it in his own. "You know," He said, the words squished around the tube of the cigarette. "Smoking won't make this hike any better."

"No, but it'll make it much more enjoyable." Max, lighter in hand, snatched the cigarette back and lights it defiantly. Puffing out silky clouds of smoke, he asked, "How much further?"

"Another mile or so." Georg looked up at the mountain, holding his hand up to block out the fierce summer sun. "We'll get there in an hour." _Hopefully_, he thought, gazing at Max, who had just stopped panting. "Come, we have to hurry."

"I know the chances are slim, Georg, but could you by any chance _carry_ me?"

By some miracle, they made it to the mountain top before the sun burnt out and the world ended. The cabin, owned by some old friend of Georg's, who believed Georg was going on a little boys' night out trip (which was partly true), was quite quaint. The wood was stout and strong. The cabin itself had two thin beds, a stove, a table with two chairs, and a few cabinets. Though nice, it held a smell of dirt and leaves that was pleasing to Georg, but foreign to Max.

With the stove burning a nice, sweet orange flame, Max sat with his back against the bed, a watery brandy in one hand, a book in the other. He was dressed only in an open-necked shirt and pants, painfully casual for him. The romantic light danced across his page, dazzling his barely inebriated eyes.

"What are you reading?" Georg asked, casually looking over from his seat by the window. The night sky was extravagant and he hated to miss the midnight-turned mountains.

"Night and Day." Max declared. "Virginia Woolf. Quite interesting."

"Isn't that a feminist novel?" Georg asked, his nose slightly wrinkled.

"Your point?"

"You never cease to amaze me, Max." Georg responded, shaking his head.

"I should hope so." Max replied with a smile. "The day I stop amazing you is the day you can kick me out."

"I'll never kick you out." Georg whispered under his breath, turning back to the window and the night sky.

"I know." Max muttered. But he left the conversation alone, because it would lead to an argument, and they argued too much already. Agathe was already a little peeved at Georg at "wasting" his fortune on his friend. Max was confident that, once he developed a good list of contacts and friends in the government, he would make good money. But that day was yet to come.

It was hard for them, being unflinchingly honorable and totally self-centered. They both were aware that they totally hated each other sometimes (most of the time), but the past they shared was too deep and wide for them to forget it.

They sat in silence for a while, only the warm crackle of the fire lifting the heavy quiet. After an hour or so, Georg searched through his belongings and dug out his guitar. Strumming it softly, he sat next to Max, their legs touching softly. And then, Georg began to sing. Soft and quiet, but with such beauty and gentleness that it made Max put his cigarette down, his heart in his throat.

"What is that?" He asked softly.

"An old folk song." Georg replied. "The music of the mountain."

"It's the most beautiful thing in the world." Max decided. He moved to sit criss-cross, facing Georg fully. Playing slowly, he sang the song again, Max trying his best to keep up. It was about a flower, an edelweiss. Max's voice, competent but not nearly as lovely as Georg's, was hushed and in awe.

"You must sing more, Georg." Max told him.

"No." He responded sharply. "Singing is from the heart. It's what I give to the people I love."

Well, that made Max's heart soar, higher than every mountain he could dream of. But then a question soured his mind. "Do you sing it for Agathe?"

Georg's face instantly went cold and distant: his Captain face. His Baron face. Yes, it was familiar. "Max-"

"Please, I'm sorry, Georg. Please, let's not argue." Max tried to appease him.

"You know I love Agathe."

"Of course." Mac conceded, but then, he couldn't help it. "You just would need a quick shag with me every once in a while." Georg jumped to his feet, guitar in hand and face boiling. Oh, he was angry now.

"I don't need to defend myself to you." Georg turned away from Max, putting the guitar away.

"No," Max retaliated. "I'm just your weekend whore, Georg, I-" Georg was on top of Max instantly, grabbing him by the shirt collar and tackling him to the ground. Max felt the air shoot out of his lungs as Georg crashed on top of him.

Georg's fists were heavy and sure. The first one busted Max's eye, bruising six layers at once: yellow, purple, black. Delicate layers of pain. The second: his nose. Bloody gushed out quite satisfyingly. When Georg went for the third punch, Max managed to struggle to the side and Georg just punched the wooden floor.

The pain was instant and Georg cursed vehemently. Taking his chance, Max struck Georg across the jaw. The feeling of hurting Georg was wonderful and Max kept going, another hit and another. It was a new experience for Georg, he was too stunned for a moment to do anything. Then, Georg broke from his stupor and grabbed Max's arms, pinning him back down against the floor. In a panting, angry moment, they looked into each other's furious eyes. They held it, and of course, Max cracked a smile. The tension bled out of the room and Georg collapsed on top of Max, suddenly tired and sore.

"Get off me, you big oaf." Max said, pushing Georg's sturdy body away. Max reached for his brandy glass, a few chips of ice still floating in the bottom, and pressed it to his eye. Then his nose. "Well, that was a riot."

"I'll say." Georg looked up and took the glass, holding it to his jaw, where an impressive bruise was already burgeoning. Then, he took a long swig of the brandy.

"We're a mess." Max said quietly, looking into the dying fire of the stove. "A bloody mess."

Georg looked into the fire as well, and saw the warmth of it all. Looking away, his eyes were still shining with the light. Sitting up, Georg wiped the blood from Max's face. "Damn it all, Max, but I love you."

And this led to other things, which led to longer things.

Long story short, they never really got around to hiking the mountains.


	3. The Meeting

**I don't own SOM. I'm taking some artistic license here with history, so humor me.**

Max was curled up in a tight ball, his bones shivering like an earthquake as he laid in his cot in the dim barracks. The other prisoners were coughing and suffering in their sleep, but Max tried to ignore them, for he resented them. He had to work, like all the others, alongside the Communists and the Jews. Yes, the dirt and the filth, they surrounded him. The Jews were faceless, gray and melting. The grime grew into them. Max never had time to learn their names, it was an endless stream of living corpses.

Georg's latest letter was clutched to Max's thin chest, the grainy surface warm against his chilled fingers. Maria had had the baby, and Georg sent a picture. A small, wonderful little boy. He had Maria's nose, but Georg's eyes. And those eyes were so familiar, so pure and bright. Like Georg had once been.

_Maximilian von Trapp._ Max reread those words in the letter again and again. _Maria likes the name, she wants to keep you close to our family, _Georg wrote. _So do I._

Max looked deep into those young eyes, and remembered when Georg's eyes were like that.

_July, 1914_

"Herr Detweiller!" The throaty, hoarse voice called.

Max rubbed his eyes, the smoke of his cigarette making his eyes sting. Tossing the dying cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with his beaten shoes, he turned to Frau von Spaun. Her wrinkled face looked strange against the glittering fabric of her dress. Her old, loose flesh was barely contained in the gown, obviously made for someone much younger and prettier.

"Yes, Frau von Spaun?" He replied, trying his best to keep _just_ the right amount of annoyance in his voice. "Can I help you?"

"Tell Herr Beiler to pull the car around front." The lady of the house said, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "The Admiral is almost ready."

"Of course, Frau von Spaun." He bowed, keeping his eyes on her, totally ruining the point of bowing. Just to let her know that he bowed because he had to, that he bowed knowing one day she would bow to him.

Max ambled as quickly as he liked to the garage where Ernil Beiler stayed with the shiny cars and privacy. The elegant orange house sat low against the view of the austere mountains. Tonight, at Hofburg Palace, some of the heads of the military would have a celebratory ball before shipping out to war. To Max, the entire idea seemed ridiculous, but he wasn't the one in charge. No, he definitely wasn't. Max pushed his way into the dark and secluded garage.

"Beiler!" He shouted into the stuffy air. "Get off your ass! They're ready."

The sandy brown head of the driver shot up from inside the car. He yawned impressively, rubbing his nicely trimmed mustache. "Alright, alright. I'm up."

"At your leisure, Herr Beiler." Max said sarcastically, as the driver slowly opened up the main garage door. The sunset of Vienna was only tainted the sky along the edges with orange. It was a lovely sight to see, but nothing like the countryside. Yes, there, where Max had once lived, the sky danced with reds and golds. Yes, the one thing the country could do better than Vienna.

Back inside, Max made his way up the gilded staircase of the mansion, the last dead puffs of smoke spoiling the taste in his mouth. Down the long hallway, Max's footsteps were muted against the expensive carpet. Opening the door to the Admiral's quarters, Max peeked into the plush room.

"Admiral von Spaun?" He said, civility dripping from his words.

"Ah, yes, Herr Detweiller." The short, rotund Admiral turned to the door, struggling to button his waistcoat. "If you wouldn't mind-"

"Of course not." Max replied, feigning a smile. Max came close to the Admiral and helped button the white waistcoat, made for a much younger man. Then came the coat and the hat and the rose boutonniere. The Admiral was a full man, with sparkling eyes and a bushy beard that was trimmed neatly, quite different from its usual tangled mess. The smell of old tobacco hung around the man's heavy figure. After about an hour, the Admiral was all dressed and Max was helping him down the stairs. Frau von Spaun, all painted up like a barn, waited for them at the foot of the stairs. Max opened the grand door, where the glimmering Chevrolet Baby Grand sat for them, with Beiler sitting patiently for them.

"Good evening, Admiral." Beiler said, his voice mirroring the falseness in Max's. "Frau von Spaun."

"Herr Beiler." The Admiral gave him a nod. Max opened the side door for the Admiral and his wife, then scrambled over to the passenger seat and jumped in. The car chugged off down the road, the rocks making the ride a bit bouncy. As they made their way into the city, more and more cars appeared, striding into the glittering city. The sun was fully set now, dimly lighting the mountains on fire. In the east, the sky was plunged into midnight wonders.

Beiler pulled up into the driveway of the long driveway of Hofburg Castle, the glittering lights reflecting off the washed white stone and the pale green of the roof. As Bieler pulled into the long line of cars, curling in front of the main door, Max looked at the greenish statue of Prince Eugene. The Emperor was still in Schobrunn, too old for unnecessary travel. Bored, Max lit another cigarette. As they got to the door, Max jumped out and opened up the car door for the Admiral and his wife.

"Thank you, Max." The Admiral said with a smile. Frau von Spaun pulled her mink stole closer to her shoulders. Max nodded and followed them into the grand foyer, a glittering hall of gold and light. Many other military figures, dressed in various degrees of regalia and splendor, meandered down the hall to the Redouten Wing, the ball room. Max followed the aged procession with as little contempt as he could manage.

The ball room itself was just as glorious as the rest of the palace: glowing stone and gypsum, a full orchestra playing a lite melody by the wall. Tables set up next to the tall windows. The heat, though borderline stuffy, was tolerable. Max stood alongside the wall, gazing out across the dancing, laughing couples with only a hint of animosity.

Hours seemed to drag by like a ball on a chain. Max went to the bathroom after a while, brandy in hand, and took a long drag on a fresh cigarette. The smoke curled up to the marble ceiling of the bathroom, utterly polluting the grand display of the palace. Leaning against the sink counter, Max gazed over his shoulder, into the impressive mirror. Alone, it probably cost more than his entire wages in a year. With a sneer, he took another drag off his cigarette.

One of the stalls opens up, revealing a tall, surprisingly decent-looking young man in a sailor's uniform. Without looking at Max, the man washed his hands and rubbed his jaw. Resting his heavy, dark gaze on Max finally, the man said, "Boy, get me a towel."

"Excuse me?" The rage was instant, but Max played it off with cold, utter contempt. "_Excuse me_?"

"_Towel_." The word was punched this time.

"I am _not _a _bathroom assistant_." The lie came to Max's mind immediately and easily. "I am the First Secretary of Roads and interior Development." Max, for one thing, had absolutely no idea if that Ministry was a real thing, but it sounded like an actual thing. The young man obviously was as ignorant as Max, as he only raised his eyebrows and nodded his head.

"I'm so sorry, sir." The man said, holding out his hand. "Von Trapp, sir."

"Hm." Max shook Von Trapp's hand, testing its heart strength. "Herr Detweiller. Now, Private-"

"Actually, sir, it's _Captain_."

"Oh?" Max dropped the _Captain_'s hand. "If you don't mind me saying, you look a bit too young to be a captain."

Not missing a beat, the young Captain said, "If you don't mind me saying, _sir_, but you look a bit too young to be First Secretary."

_Well, he's got you there_, Max thought with a smile. Trying to divert attention from himself, Max said, "So, Von Trapp. Shipping out to blow up those Serbs?"

With the raise of an eyebrow, the Captain nodded slowly. Max opened his mouth to say something witty, just as the bathroom door opened and an inebriated Admiral strolled in, humming some symphony rather poorly.

"Ah, M_ax_." The Admiral slurred, stumbling up against him. Max stiffened, a blush heating his cheeks violently. Though he didn't look over, Max could feel the Captain grinning. "Please, me and the Mrs. will only be a little while longer. Make sure Beiler is ready for us. Oh, and Max, when we get home, could you push all my appointments an hours later?"

Through gritted teeth, Max said, "_Yes, sir_." The Admiral patted Max's shoulder and waddled into one of the stalls. Letting a thin breath out, Max turned to the Captain, who was now just standing there, eyebrow raised and grin gone.

"You lied."

"You believed that lie." Max countered with an apathetic smile. "And to be completely honest to myself, it wasn't a very good one. Secretary of _Roads_? _Interior Development_? If that even real?"

"Why would you lie?" The Captain asked.

"Why would you assume that I'm a _towel boy_?" The accusation was there in Max's voice, but with a smirk that took the edge off of it.

The Captain raised an eyebrow. "So. You're a- What? Houseboy?'

"_Secretary_." Max replied. "A... _Personal_ secretary." Max relented. "But still. I bet you're not even a captain!"

"Actually." The Captain displayed the medals blazing his navy blue breast pocket. He didn't say any more, just displayed the shining crests and buttons and ribbons.

"These mean absolutely nothing to me." Max said, bored.

The Captain cleared his throat. "It proves that I- I am a Captain." He straightened up. "Captain Georg von Trapp."

"Von Trapp... Sounds... Old." _And rich_, Max thought cunningly.

"Yes. An old family." The Captain, _Georg_, nodded stiffly. "A proud family. _Honest_."

"Ugh." Max rolled his eyes, taking another puff off his cigarette. "Privilege. How charming."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you're a Captain at your age... And _rich_. So..." Max shrugged.

"I earned my title." Georg said with a frown.

"I'm sure you earned _some _of it."

"Some?"

"Let's say... 45%?"

"I'd say at least 55%." Georg affirmed. But he tried to fight down a smile, a smile he didn't understand.

"Mhm." Max mused, starting towards the exit. "You just wait, _Georg_. One day all that influence and money and charm is going to run dry- And you'll be _begging_ for a friend in government. And when that day comes," Max leaned against the door. "I'll be there."

When Max was gone, Georg was left with a bemused smile, the sound of the Admiral relieving himself, and the memory of how Max said his name. Strange.

As the war progressed, and the two men traveled down their paths, it seemed they needed each other, in some strange way. Max, in his free time, did some research into the strapping Captain. Very rich, very talented. Max kept tabs on him throughout the war, making sure he knew where Georg was. Georg, when he wasn't being shot at, managed to inform his contacts in higher places about the candid politician. Max was quickly promoted to Head Secretary of the Press. They shared a correspondence, teasing and light and easy. It was a nice friendship.

Somewhere along the way, there was something. Something. Georg would anticipate the delivery of letters on his ship. He would save the letters. Max worried about Georg, would think about his ship going into battle. He found himself praying. To whom, Max did not know. But he prayed, he prayed deeply for Georg.

After the war, with Austria fractured, Georg returned fractured as well. His pride was broken. And when he saw Max, his gleaming brown, smiling eyes, he fled. He did not see Max for months. And when he finally mustered the courage to return to Vienna, he had a sparkling young thing named Agathe on his arm. And this killed Max. But Max didn't know why.

It was not until the glittering 20s that Max began to understand. Till Georg realized everything. They began to understand, they got older, wiser, and the years went by.

And _how_ they went.

** Thanks for reading. I understand that Georg probably shipped out earlier in the war, and I might've gotten some ranking jazz wrong. Sorry.**

** Admiral von Spaun was actually the admiral at the time. Whether he had a personal secretary or not, who knows?**

** I also feel like I've gotten some of the years wrong, as far as getting the age right. But I don't actually care that much.**

** Also, I don't know the protocol in capitalizing "von", so I didn't. Sometimes. Whatever.**

**Some people have been telling me how this relationship isn't historically accurate. Really? Kinda like how:**

** Georg wasn't nearly as rich as the movie portrayed?**

** How none of the children in the movie were actually named the names they had in the movie?**

** How the Anschluss happened years earlier?**

** Or how Maximilian Detweiller DIDN'T ACTUALLY EXIST?**

**Kinda like that?**

** It's fanfiction, guys. Calm down.**


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